


Riding in Cars with Spies

by JaineyBaby, timetospy



Series: la Vie en Rose [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), SPECTRE (2015), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Bad Pick Up Lines, Cars, Champagne, Frot, M/M, Oral, Snark, a sense of adventure, absconding with government property, i make no apologies, mission prep, moot points, tanner is definitely pissed, tanner is probably pissed, test drive, this is seven thousand words of excuses for them to go out into the Welsh countryside and screw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 16:09:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5546726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaineyBaby/pseuds/JaineyBaby, https://archiveofourown.org/users/timetospy/pseuds/timetospy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Riding along on a test drive with James Bond is never a good idea.<br/>Unless it turns out to be the best idea Q has ever had.</p><p>Part of the "La Vie en Rose" universe</p>
            </blockquote>





	Riding in Cars with Spies

_June 2013_

Normally, Q would supervise from the safety of his desk in Q-branch. Normally, he would be content with his screens and his keyboard and his tea. Normally, he wouldn’t go anywhere _near_ the test facility, a rather bland and utilitarian building constructed in the 1970’s out in the middle of the Welsh countryside. But today was the day 007 came to collect his new car, a bespoke DB9 _before_ Q had gotten his hands on it, and he would be damned if he missed that.

He’d only come to watch. He got a better feel for how the vehicle handled if he saw it in person, driven by the agent it was assigned to. That made sense, didn't it? So what if he’d monitored all the other agents’ vehicles from the comfort of his desk? That didn’t mean the Quartermaster had been mooning over one particular Double-Oh agent to the point of distraction. And it was definitely not because he was hoping to somehow recreate the precise conditions that had led to an unexpected snog-and-grope in a broom cupboard nearly two months ago.  

Of course, his original plan went to hell as soon as the man had arrived. James Bond sauntered into the garage, cool as you please, his hands in his pockets as he surveyed the car. She was all smooth lines and graceful curves, outfitted for a mission to the Ukraine. Q was quite proud of her, actually. He’d been given fairly broad latitude for this project, and had taken liberal advantage of the ambiguity.

Q stepped up beside Bond, carefully keeping his distance, his screen held to his chest in one arm. He could picture himself in the passenger seat, the world flying by in a blur, Bond so focused on the road ahead that Q could stare at him with relative impunity, drinking in the face that had been haunting his dreams.

“I’ll need to ride with you,” he heard himself say. _What the bloody hell?_  “Better readings, particularly on the stabilizers.” Q desperately glowered at his screen, flipping through menus at lightning speed, and avoiding the glacier-blue eyes that were no doubt stripping away whatever inane babble he was spewing, seeing it for what it was, and dismissing him.

But Bond didn’t even blink, merely smirked in that superior way he had that made you think he knew everything that was going on in your head (and most likely did).

“Get in,” he said, his silk-and-gravel voice soaking into Q’s hips like caramel.

So there he sat, close enough to one James Bond that he imagined he could feel the heat radiating off of him, tearing down the test track at 200 miles per hour, and trying desperately to think about his statistical analysis of the differentiated compressors. It was not going well.

Bond was dressed casually; well, casual for him, anyway, in shirt sleeves rolled to the elbow and perfectly tailored trousers that left just enough to the imagination, and every time he moved the gearshift, his forearm tensed just so, the movement of muscle under skin mesmerising, and Q could barely breathe.

 _Get ahold of yourself,_ he thought, and pushed his glasses more firmly onto his nose and raked a hand through his hair. If he hadn’t been trying so hard to concentrate on his screen, and not on Bond’s forearm, he might have been prepared.

The car shifted, Bond taking the curve in the track much faster than was necessary, and it felt like the seat had teleported six inches to the left without warning. He clung to the door to steady himself and glowered at his screen some more.

“Problem?” Bond asked. His voice sent invisible ripples down Q’s spine to settle in the small of his back.

“Seems to be an error on the operations end,” he replied archly. He’d be damned if he let Bond know how flustered he actually was.

Bond’s presence filled the entire cabin, and Q was so aware of his proximity he could barely concentrate. This was not what he’d thought would happen. He’d never been this affected by someone’s mere presence before, and he wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. It made him twitchy and irritable and he wanted this to be over right now and to never end, all at once.

He settled back into his seat and flipped into the defense subsystem and toggled on a few more options, trying to distract himself again. He wondered if the caltrops were a bit much, but then again, he'd been told to account for as many contingencies as budget allowed. And the budget had been, surprisingly, generous.

“Mm. The clutch is a bit sluggish.” Bond complained.

He downshifted, made a sharp right onto the cross-track almost causing Q’s head to crack against the window, then shifted up again to top speed. It was a lazy thing, as though if he wasn’t also getting shot at, the act of driving held little interest, even at this speed. There was nothing wrong with the damn clutch.

“Does this do anything?” Bond asked as they slid into a straightaway.

Q wasn't sure if he should be offended by that. He was lucky to still have a job, let alone an extended budget, after the Silva fiasco.

“What, the car isn't enough, it has to _do_ something?”

Bond shrugged noncommittally.

“If all it did was drive, they would have made me get a rental. And you wouldn't have had a reason to ride along.”

Q felt the blush creep up along his neck and hoped Bond was too intent on the track ahead to notice. He sighed.

“Instruction manual’s in the glove box,” Q said.

“How about the short version.”

“The manual is quite succinct.”

“Which means it’d take _you_ a week to read through it,” Bond said. “Short version.”

Q stifled another sigh. He affected a put-upon attitude, but secretly he was a bit excited to show off. He’d included a few...personalisations, a few details that hadn’t been necessary but he knew Bond would appreciate. The first being...

“Touchscreen display has all your controls,” Q tapped the screen and it brought up a menu with four options: offense, defense, distress and shadow. “The first three are fairly self-explanatory. Shadow is, well, stealth. It’ll deactivate all but the original functions of the car. To re-engage the other options after, you'll need to scan your fingerprint here.” Q pressed a small button under the display and it flipped over to reveal a fingerprint scanner. “It’ll only open for you. Um, I’ve programmed it for your left ring finger. Least likely to be, er, removed.”

Bond looked at him askance for an instant.

“Thought you… didn’t go in for this kind of thing anymore?”

“Yes, well.” Q sniffed. “There’s a palmprint encoded Walther in the glovebox alongside the instruction manual. I can reassign the car.”

“Not complaining, for the record. Merely observing. Feels a bit nostalgic.” Bond ran his hands over the steering wheel, then hugged the kerb as they pitched into another curve.

“It’s just possible that, occasionally, nostalgia isn’t such a bad thing.”

“Did you just concede that I might still be relevant?”

He had mostly been treating this as a bit of fun. James’ cover, such as it was, had included an extremely posh automobile and Q had been instructed to make it ‘mission ready’ and given a budget. What else was he supposed to do?

“I never actually said you were irrelevant, Double Oh Seven. In fact, your relevancy has become painfullly acute as of late.” Q froze for an instant, his gut trying to crawl its way up into his esophagus.

“Painfully? Well, that certainly wasn’t my intention.”

Q felt the heat in his neck and ears and wanted to melt into the seat. Bond had the cheek to _wink_ at him as he sped up along the next straightaway.

“Hm. I think we ought to try this out. For...research?” Bond said as he tapped the ‘offense’ option.

After taking another curve in the track, his lips quirked up in a mischievous smirk and before Q could protest, he'd activated the embedded L85A2 in the grille and also found the trigger, which Q had cleverly disguised as an adjustment lever. _That’s it, the instruction manuals are obviously superfluous._

The track barricade in front of them disintegrated in a storm of bullets, and Bond jumped the kerb, fishtailing on the grass and leaving behind tyre marks deep enough for a decorative pond. Q flailed, his arms flinging out to the sides as he tried to keep his balance. His screen went flying onto the dashboard. It wasn't until they'd emerged from a hedge onto a mostly deserted country road that Q realized he was digging his fingers into Bond’s arm.

He pulled his hand back as though he’d been burned, and he was tempted to check and see if he had. He could still feel the texture of Bond’s skin across his fingertips, the resistance of the muscle beneath, and the memory of those arms wrapped securely around his waist. _Stop. It was one time. He’d snog anyone once. It didn't mean anything. This was a really bad idea and you’re going to make everything even more awkward._

Bond flexed his wrist, the barest hint of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, but said nothing, for which Q was both infinitely grateful and infinitely furious.

Q leaned forward to retrieve his screen from the far corner of the dashboard, pushing his glasses back into place once again. He pulled up the real-time monitoring and to his shock, the car was in one piece.

“Suspension seems to be in working order. No thanks to you.”

“Makes things more interesting,” Bond said.

“Hm. Sometimes ‘interesting’ should be left for missions, Double Oh Seven.”

Q should have been prepared for what happened next. It was what always happened next when you said ‘no’ to James Bloody Bond. He said ‘yes.’

“Where’s your sense of adventure?”

The words had barely left his lips before the car leapt forward down the winding country road, tearing around curves and across intersections.

It was a strange thing. Q thought he’d be nervous sitting next to Bond as he tore down the narrow roads. He thought he would curl up in terror as the possibility of crashing headlong into a tree, or a fencerow, or worse, an oncoming lorry, loomed large in his not-so-distant future. But that is not at all what he felt. The speed was exhilarating, if he were honest, and Bond was more than proficient. Expert. Yes. That was the word. Expert. And out here, Bond’s driving smoothed out so there weren’t gut-wrenching shifts in centripetal force that flung Q against the door.

The Welsh countryside beyond the testing facility was a blur of green and brown and gray. It was one of those rare sunny evenings with towering cumulous clouds and blue sky, warm and lovely, and Q suddenly thought of another special feature he’d added in this particular vehicle: a picnic blanket, a bottle of Dom Perignon and two champagne flutes. It was included for the inevitable moment in which Bond would be required to seduce yet another forgettable beauty, and Q had fought with himself over the irrational jealousy percolating in the back of his neck the entire time he’d been installing the miniscule refrigeration unit. If there was one thing he knew about James Bond, it was that he belonged to no one, especially not to him, and especially not after a single insane rut in a broom cupboard, no matter how intense and heated. Q shifted in his seat. The memory burned, and he could still feel the scrape of James’ stubble across his cheek, against his lips, and they tingled with remembered friction. He cleared his throat.

“Where are we going, exactly?”

Bond shrugged.

“For a drive.”

“Ah.” Q should have gone back to staring at his screen, or even out the window. Anything but watching Bond watch the road, openly admiring the look of concentration on his face as he maneuvered the car around the hairpin turns in the road, winding their way up a hill. His lips were pursed, just a fraction, and it made his cheekbones stand out, his eyes piercing in their intensity. Q found that he could watch that face for hours. Had, in fact, over the CCTV feeds. It was fascinating. _He_ was fascinating, if Q wanted to get right down to it, and his physical presence was only about half the reason, although after the broom cupboard, Q’s thoughts tended in that direction far too often.

Bond glanced at Q, a question in the lift of his eyebrow. Q felt his cheeks flush at being caught staring. This was ridiculous. Why had he ever thought that riding with Bond on a test drive would be a good idea? He buried his nose in his screen, desperately hoping that Bond would simply turn around and drive back to the test facility and be done with it. There was no way he would ever want to sit on a blanket enjoying a glass of champagne with Q. That’s… that’s not the kind of man he was. At least, Q didn’t think so. But he couldn’t quite decapitate the desperate, wriggling hope in the pit of his stomach.

 

*********

 

_What are you doing, you absolute numpty?_

James told the voice in the back of his head to kindly shut the hell up. The day was perfect, the car was everything he expected of Q, and more, and to top it off, the boffin had wanted to join him. Well, who was he to argue?

It had taken a bit of doing, and absconding with government property (which was a mere technicality, really), but finally, _finally_ Q had let the screen fall into his lap, forgotten, and he was… well, as James looked out of the corner of his eye, it looked like Q was staring directly at him.

James was not stupid. He could read Q’s interest a mile off in heavy rain. And James was content to go along for the ride while it lasted. He wouldn’t have too many more chances in his life to snog gorgeous men in broom cupboards, and he’d be damned if he wasted the opportunity. And Q was undeniably one of the most beautiful men James had ever seen. There was something ethereal about him, James thought, like he didn’t quite belong to the world. It was in the curve of his neck, the shape of his jaw, the waves in his dark hair, the intelligence in those soft green eyes, that peculiar shade of pink in his lips that made them virtually irresistible.

He let his mind drift for a few moments, the act of driving, even at this speed, innate.

He’d found Q bent over, his entire upper half shoved under the bonnet of the very car he was now driving, his arse on display in loose denim, his white tee shirt rucked up above his waist, a flash of skin peeking out  as he reached into the car to adjust a bolt. James had known he worked on the vehicles, but it had been an intellectual exercise, a mental footnote until he’d been faced with it, and the view had gone straight to his cock. After weeks of flirting, some of which had been reciprocated, he hadn’t been able to help himself. When Q had straightened and turned, his hair disheveled, a smudge of grease across cheeks flushed with effort, he’d all but pulled a very willing Quartermaster into that broom cupboard by his collar.

His cock stirred at the memory, and James glanced over at Q, an eyebrow raised, wondering if he could, perhaps, have a second go. And go further. He found himself wondering how Q tasted, how Q’s cock would feel in his mouth, what Q’s ridiculously plush lips would look like stretched around his own. Oh, he was definitely interested in that.

He drove vaguely north, the countryside opening up into hills dotted with trees. James wove around the other cars, though there weren’t many this time of day, and blew past a fieldstone barn, scattering the sheep in the paddock behind it. The sun was sinking into the hills to his left, and James followed it onto a one-lane road that wound around the base of a huge hill before climbing up the west face through an archway of trees and out onto the summit. It felt a bit like the whole countryside was laid out before them, bathed in gold and red and purple shadow. He’d meant to take the car out for a drive, that was all, just a drive. But this, this was so beautiful it made his eyes ache from looking. Q’s head snapped around as the car slowed, and he gave James a small frown.

“Detour,” James said as he pulled the car off to the side of the road and parked it underneath a huge maple tree. He had no real plan. He hadn’t had much of a plan when he’d shot through the barricade on the test track. He’d simply been trying to ruffle Q’s feathers, which he’d accomplished, and then had just kept driving. Now Q was looking at him, questions in his eyes that James couldn’t really answer, but he did know one thing. He wanted to kiss Q, and he supposed that would answer one of the boffin’s questions, at any rate.

He turned in his seat and reached a hand out to brush a stray lock of hair off Q’s forehead. Q froze, and James noted with satisfaction that the pulse in his neck jumped. He smirked then and slid out of the car, sauntering around to open Q’s door.

Q emerged from the car, clutching his screen, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“What are you up to, Double Oh Seven?” he asked, the tone sharp.

“Who says I’m up to anything?” James said.

Q gave him a withering look, and James smirked again.

“Thought you might need a moment to stretch your legs.” James shrugged. “This is as good a spot as any.”

He turned then, surveying the valley descending into shadow, the sunset in shades of red and orange and purple as the last sliver of sun sank below the far hills. It was nearly a minute before he heard Q move behind him, the sound of a car door, then more footsteps.

“Used to holiday in Wales,” Q said, moving to stand next to James at the crest of the hill. “When I was a kid, you know?” He shook his head. “I hated it.”

“Switzerland,” James replied. “Skiing. I loved it.”

“Never been skiing,” Q said.

James could picture Q in ski gear, the goggles perched on his forehead, his cheeks pink from cold, his face framed in a faux-fur-lined hood. It was a good look. One he wouldn't mind instigating. He carefully wrapped an arm around Q’s waist. There was a barely audible intake of breath, and then Q settled into the touch.  

“I’ll take you,” James said before he had time to think about it. _Shit._

“I’d…” Q took a deep breath, then James felt Q’s hand tentatively slide across his back to rest on his hip. “I’d like that. I think.”

James smirked and huffed a laugh through his nose. It wasn't a bad idea, really, and what was skiing, if you couldn't stretch out on the rug in front of the fire afterwards? James could see that, too.

“Oh,” Q said, ducking around James and stepping back to the car.

James turned and frowned after him. What was _he_ up to?

“Q?”

“Um.” Q stood up and shut the door with his hip, his hands full with a bottle, and two glasses. There was a blanket and white brushed cotton towel draped over his arm.

James broke into a wide grin and chuckled as he walked over and pulled the bottle out of Q’s hand. It was a mid-range bottle of Dom, perfectly chilled. Q couldn’t have planned this, James hadn’t planned it himself.

“What’s this doing in the car?”

“I…” Q stared at the grass between the toes of his shoes for a moment before meeting James’ eyes, something hard behind them now. “It was for the mission. I’ll just put it back. Obviously not to your taste, I’ll replace -” Q turned back to the car and fumbled for the handle.

James stopped him with a hand on his jaw, pulling Q’s eyes to his.

“It’s exactly my taste,” James murmured, not talking about the champagne at all, before drawing him in for a soft kiss.

It was a gentle, chaste thing, without urgency, but James could feel the heat behind it, feel the coil of need start to tighten in the small of his back, and he broke the kiss before it kindled into fire. It really was quite a good bottle of champagne.

He plucked the blanket from Q’s arm, and with the bottle at the small of Q’s back, lead him over to a spot under the tree that was mostly devoid of roots. He set the bottle down against the tree trunk and flipped the blanket open, spreading it over the grass with a flourish. Q huffed, but there was no annoyance in it. James turned and held his hand out.

Q rolled his eyes theatrically.

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Bond. I’m not some delicate hothouse orchid.” But he took the proffered hand anyway.

“Mm. Never said you were.”

“Implied,” Q said, settling himself on the blanket, one knee drawn up to his chin, the other tucked under him. James plucked up the bottle and settled in beside him, legs crossed.

“Never.” James scratched at the foil on the neck of the bottle until he could peel it away.

Q merely raised an eyebrow and handed James the towel.

James expertly removed the wire cage and twisted the cork out of the bottle with a _pop_. Q held out the champagne flutes and James poured.

“Can’t drink champagne without a toast,” James said once both glasses were filled.

“Ah. Well, then, to what shall we toast?”

James thought for a moment, then lifted his glass. It wasn’t very original, it wasn’t even particularly witty, but he couldn’t help himself.

“To a sense of adventure.” James let the corner of his mouth quirk upwards just a fraction, waiting to see if he'd need to laugh along after such a ridiculous line. He held the champagne glass out, waiting.

“Adventure,” Q echoed, unable to hide his amusement but not actually laughing. Good. _Haven't lost your touch yet, old man._

They touched their glasses, the gentle _tink_ an audible kiss. They sipped their champagne in silence for a few moments, both of them staring out across the meadow that stretched between them and the next hill, and James felt a bit like they were the only two people in the entire world.

He wished it were that simple.

His eyes flicked to Q, who had rested his arm across his knee, his glass dangling from his fingertips as he gazed out across the meadow toward the last vestiges of pink sky. The line of his neck disappearing into his collar felt like art, the slight rise and fall of his chest as he breathed the rhythm to a music James was just beginning to hear.

He shook his head. He couldn’t even blame the champagne on that twaddle. Not yet, at any rate. What was it about the man that inspired metaphor?

He tore his eyes away from Q before he could think too deeply about it and they landed on the car. He had grown accustomed over the years to Quartermasters who overclocked car engines, but something about this particular customisation seemed created personally for him. By Q. She was a lovely car to start with, but Q’s touch was all over it, from the way it handled in a turn to the heads-up display across the front windshield. Some darker part of him wondered if Q handled just as easily as the car.

“Where’d you learn to work on cars?”

Q chuckled softly, dipping his head, before turning to look at James.

“You’d never believe me.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Try me.”

“It was my Uncle Carlton,” Q began, tasting the words as he spoke, “Worst babysitter in the history of England. Don’t know why Mum kept allowing us to visit. Power tools aren’t usually suitable playthings at five.” Q shook his head fondly. “He had an old Jeep out in his shed, left over from the War, you know? Don’t know where he got it, but it wasn’t much more than a shell. I helped him rebuild it.”

“You rebuilt a Jeep… at five?” James was incredulous. He knew Q was a genius, but that was a bit much.

“What? No! God, no, it took us years. After he passed, it came to me. I… It’s still sitting in the shed, I think. It runs, but I’ve never driven it.”

“I’m sorry,” James said, and meant it. Q shrugged.

“It’s been years. I should just sell it, I’ve no use for it in London. Can’t quite bring myself to do it.” He let out a rather bedraggled chuckle.

James thought of his own little beat up, rusting Escort sitting in a private garage back in London. He’d bought Liz with his signing bonus from the Navy. She shone deep blue and power windows hadn’t come standard. She wasn’t as pretty now as she was then and he tended to actually drive the speed limit when he could find the time to take her out. All the world and the only fond memory he could muster was one rusting 1989 Ford Escort. And maybe this evening if he didn’t balls it up completely.

“What about you?” Q’s question caught him in a moment of reverie, and his defenses fell into place automatically.

“What about me?” James asked.

“Not everybody drives like that.” Q made a vague gesture toward the car. “Where’d you learn cars?”

James smiled.

“More champagne?”

“Yes, ta.”

James poured them both more, stalling for time. It wasn’t that Q couldn’t know, just that James was unused to sharing, and the story wasn’t nearly so pleasant as Q’s.

“My uncle taught me to drive when I was thirteen,” James said carefully.

“Was he a world-class racer? Win lots of cups?” Q was smiling, eager, and James wished the story was that simple, or that glamorous.

“Korean veteran,” James said, hoping his tone said that he was done talking about it. Uncle Max had been… difficult. He'd never hurt James, not really, but he'd been a hard man, made harder by the war. James could sympathize now, to an extent. He'd been too wrapped up in his own misery then to understand.

“Oh.” Q shifted uncomfortably, and James realized that he might have overdone the sharpness in his voice, putting a halt to the conversation altogether. _Damn it all, anyway_.

He downed the rest of his champagne, then refilled his glass, topping off Q’s while he was at it.  He leaned back on his elbows, staring up into the darkening sky. The first stars were just beginning to peek out between the clouds. It wasn’t quite clear enough for stargazing, but James began to pick out the constellations nonetheless, the navigation training he’d received more years ago than he cared to admit to coming back in a rush. He traced the familiar star clusters, the plough, Hercules, and there, low on the horizon, the brightest star in the sky, Arcturus. Somewhere, lost in the mists of time and living, he’d learned a bit about astronomy, but only enough to be dangerous.

“Oh be a fine girl, kiss me,” he murmured, almost to himself.

“What?” Q frowned, and James lips quirked up.

“Oh be a fine girl, kiss me,” he repeated. “Mnemonic for star classifications.”

James could hear the eyeroll.

“I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“No, it really is. It’s not a line. This woman classified all the stars by… temperature, if I remember, and all the stars have letter classifications based on it: O, B, A, F, G, K and M. Oh be a fine girl, kiss me.”

James sat back up, propping himself on a hand, and studied the shadow of Q’s face intently.

“It is a good line, though,” he said, and shifted closer to Q. “Did it work?”

Q, for his part, looked suitably embarrassed and pleased as he took another sip of champagne, no doubt hoping it would hide the grin that was creeping into his lips. He rearranged himself, edging closer to James, but his eyes never left the sky.

"Alright, Bond,” he said, injecting more authority into his tone that James had thought he could under the circumstances, “what's that one there?"

Q pointed almost directly west, down low on the horizon. James leaned into Q’s shoulder and peered down his arm as he would the scope of a sniper rifle. Q smelled of tea and something citrus and very faintly of lightly spiced aftershave, and James had to stop himself from closing his eyes and just breathing in the scent of him. He blinked hard, clearing his head, and refocused on the star Q had pointed out.

He huffed. Of all the billions of stars, Q had to pick that one. Although, to be fair, it was the brightest.

"That's Arcturus. Classification: K." James leaned back a little to look Q in the eyes. He’d stopped staring out at the sky and was instead staring, rather intently, at James.

"Kiss," James murmured, and before he could think too long about what it was he was about to do, leaned in and pressed his lips against Q’s. This time, James didn't pull away. He pressed his advantage until he felt Q moan into his mouth before pulling away a fraction and teasing Q's glass from his hand.  He deposited it, along with his own, safely in the crook of a tree root.

He pulled back to see Q’s hair reflecting moonlight and washed silver around the edges. James’ breath caught in his throat. He reached out to touch, running fingers through Q’s hair before pausing at the back of his head and pulling him close again. Q did not resist.

James had kissed a lot of people. He honestly couldn’t remember how many, but it was… well, several hundred sounded hyperbolic, but if he really stopped to think, maybe it wasn’t at all. After a while the dance of lips and tongues and teeth became a formula, a series of steps to achieve a goal.

With Q, the spontaneity returned; the electricity of it, the heat, the promise. He licked into Q’s mouth, and was rewarded with a tiny gasp and Q’s tongue twining with his. Q melted into him, his arms wrapping around James’ neck, fingers toying with the short hairs at the base of his skull, making his entire scalp tingle. It pulled a growl from his throat and James wrapped his arms around Q, rolling him over until Q was straddling his hips.

The firm lines of their erections slotted together, and James couldn’t suppress the quiet moan the pressure elicited. He ran his hands up Q’s back, silently cursing the layers of fabric between his fingers and Q’s skin. He wanted to trace muscle and bone, knead tender flesh in calloused palms, suck bruises into shoulder and chest and thigh.

His fingers grappled blindly at hems, pulling out Q’s carefully tucked-in shirt and sliding his hands underneath. Q’s fingers danced over James’ shoulders and down his arms and back up again, never still, like he was mapping out the contours by touch. As James began tugging at Q’s cardigan in earnest, Q fumbled for the buttons on James’ shirt.

It would have been easier to bat his hands away, have them both pull their own clothes off. There was something about allowing Q’s deft fingers to do the work, though, that sated a need James didn’t know he had. He allowed Q to continue slowly pushing buttons through buttonholes, his hands and lips exploring each new inch of skin he exposed.

James was used to being admired, but this was more. It was reverence. Nearly awe. It fed something dark and primal, and James’ need to own, to claim, was nearly overwhelming.

The last button gave way and Q sucked a breath in through his teeth as he slid his hands up and under the shoulders of James’ shirt, letting it fall away. There was a brief moment as Q appreciated the view, his fingers brushing over James’ chest as if he couldn’t quite believe it was happening, and the unguarded wonder in his face sent lighting straight to James’ cock. James ran his hands over Q’s thighs, all the way up to his arse, and squeezed. Q gave a small cry of surprise, and James had exactly one half-second to be concerned when Q’s eyebrow lifted, and then he was moaning as Q rolled his hips, their cocks sliding against each other through their trousers.

“Fuck,” James muttered. He wanted Q naked, now.

James tugged at Q’s cardigan again, pulling it off over his head when the zipper wouldn’t give, nearly ripping the tie off his ridiculously delicious neck, and all but pulling the button-up apart at the seams, and he still had a vest. James cursed.

“Cold,” Q breathed into James’ ear.

“Not for long.” James pulled the vest up and off and flung it away. Q nearly glowed in the moonlight, the contours of his chest and shoulders in stark relief, his nipples hard, gooseflesh rising on his arms and stomach as James smoothed his hands over Q’s chest and shoulders, marveling at the strength they possessed. James never would have guessed, but found himself delighting in it.

He pulled Q into a rough embrace, his nose buried in the fold of Q’s neck at first, nipping at the soft skin there before his curiosity got the better of him and he was tasting Q’s shoulders and chest as well.  His fingers dipped below Q’s waistband, as he tried to slip the offending trousers off his hips. It was impossible at this angle, though. He made an undignified and frustrated noise into Q’s chest as he trailed kisses over his nipples, leaving lingering pink marks in his wake.

The only thing James remembered about the next seventeen seconds, aside from awkward maneuvering, was the moment when Q’s pants finally slipped off his hips. Q was spread out over the blanket on his back, now, his cock dark against his pale stomach, and James’ need to taste was overpowering.

“Oh, God,” Q whispered as James kissed his way down Q’s stomach, teeth grazing over his hip bone as he moved relentlessly down Q’s body.

James looked up at him as he lay kisses along the crease of Q’s thigh. Q was propped up on his elbows, staring down at James, his glasses mirrored with shadow and starlight. His breath came in little pants and gasps and breathy moans and James hadn’t even touched him yet. He wanted to know what he’d sound like when he swallowed him down.

James felt the wicked grin spread over his face before he licked one long stripe up the underside of Q’s cock. The bitter taste of the liquid gathered at the tip whet his appetite, and he swirled his tongue over the head. He could feel the muscles in Q’s stomach flutter, and the tiny, breathy moans became louder, feeding James’ own arousal.

He took Q all the way to the base, his nose buried in the nest of coarse hair surrounding his cock, the musk of his skin irresistible. James could think of nothing he liked better than the way Q’s cock filled his mouth, his lips stretched but not straining. He hollowed his cheeks as moved, sliding over the delicate skin, senses acute for the tells, the movement and sound, that would guide him to the best way to please. Q did not disappoint, he was unselfconscious in his pleasure, his every breath a landmark on his own personal map.

It wasn’t very long before he could feel Q grappling for purchase in the blanket, his knees coming up, trapping James’ shoulders between his thighs. James would have been content to continue like that until Q was a quivering mess, but Q was grabbing at his shoulders, now, pulling him up, and James went willingly.

He kissed his way back up Q’s chest, claiming his mouth again in a kiss that seared his lips.  He was so focused on the way Q still tasted vaguely of earl grey tea, even after the champagne, that he didn’t realize Q was rolling him onto his back until it was half-done already.

 _Where the hell is my vigilance?_  

James let Q roll him over, but he did a peripheral scan of their immediate area, just to put up a little distance. He was too close, too wrapped up in Q. It wasn’t how he’d wanted -

“Ow, fuck.” James winced as he rolled onto a rock under the blanket.

“What?” Q scrambled up a few inches.

“Rock.”

“Er.”

“Here.” James shifted his hips just enough to be off the offending object, then pulled Q back on top of him.  Q chuckled softly into his neck.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Q said, kissing along James’ jaw. “It’s just -” Q sucked on his earlobe, “I know that,” he licked around the shell of his ear, “You’ve been shot,” he bit down gently, “and you just,” he licked a long stripe up James’ neck, and James groaned, “swore at a rock.”

James huffed a laugh. It was ridiculous, but quickly being forgotten as Q left a trail of fiery kisses across his chest and down his stomach. He wanted to see Q’s eyes looking up at him through dark lashes as he watched his cock disappear into that lush mouth.

“Look at me,” he murmured, the request sounding more like a plea than a command.

Q glanced up through dark lashes, the wash of silver moonlight on his face celestial, and James was not prepared for what Q’s mouth on his cock actually did to him. It was like molten steel in his veins, lightning in his spine, and the fire that had been smoldering nicely behind his cock suddenly had gasoline thrown on it and threatened to consume him.

“Shit,” James hissed. He wasn’t going to last like that. He could feel the coils of orgasm starting to tighten in the base of his cock. He pulled Q back up to his mouth, kissing him with all the intensity burning inside him, Q fitting between his legs like he was built specifically to be there, their cocks thrusting against each other as they rolled their hips together in a rhythm that was set by heartbeat.

The entire universe was collapsing into the places where they touched, and every time Q rolled his hips in James’ hands, the universe got just that much smaller, until it was a pinprick on the tip of his tongue, and James was afraid to breathe, afraid to move, lest it shatter into a million pieces.

“James,” Q breathed across his lips.

Then the universe exploded, everything coming undone at the seams.

James felt the bunch and pull of muscle in Q’s back and arse as he followed, panting hard against his chest. The sounds were delicious, and James thought he might be able to feast on those alone. It had been ages since he felt like this, this real and solid and dangerous. Not the kind of dangerous he faced daily as a spy in Her Majesty’s Secret Service, but the kind of dangerous that you lost yourself in, the kind that clouded your judgement, made you foolish, gave you weak spots. But also made you stronger, made you want to be better, made you fight that much harder.

James lifted Q’s chin, staring into eyes he knew were green, then kissed him again, firm but gentle, his hand sliding around to cradle the back of Q’s head, fingers sliding through thoroughly mussed hair. Q nosed along his jaw for a moment before rolling onto his back next to James and reaching for the towel James had used to open the champagne.

“Now I’m really cold,” Q murmured, almost to himself, as he began gingerly wiping up the mess smeared across his stomach.

“How can you be cold? It’s 15 degrees out here.”

Q glared and tossed the towel at James’ chest so James could clean up.

“Which happens to be freezing, in case you didn’t notice.” A shiver rippled through him, and James could hear Q’s teeth chattering.

“No, actually, I thought you were rather hot,” James said, eyes full of mischief.

Q burst out laughing, a hand coming up to cover his mouth.

James chuckled himself and began hunting around for his pants.

“I thought that was quite a good line.”

“Oh, it was.”

“Then why are you laughing?”

“Because good lines are also inherently ridiculous.” The smirk on Q’s lips had trouble written all over it and James thought seriously about kissing it off, but he was starting to feel the chill in the air and Q was pulling on trousers and shirt and cardigan as fast as he could, and James could still see him shaking with cold.

James dressed quickly. He’d just finished adjusting the folds of his sleeves around his elbows when Q cursed, loudly and inventively.

“What?”

“Can’t find my tie.”

James’ laughter came bubbling up out of him before he could squelch it into a dry chuckle.

It had been a soft blue, James recalled, and it seemed to have completely disappeared into the inky darkness that layered everything. He let his eyes adjust to the shape of things rather than the color and it was only a matter of moments before he found it discarded and scrunched against a root. He scooped it up easily and handed it over. When Q’s fingers touched his, they were like ice. It was time to go.

He took the glasses from Q when he handed them to him and kept his mouth shut when Q’s hand started to shake. He gave over the blanket and held the car door for him. _Steady, you idiot. The door? Smooth…_ He all but ran back to the driver’s side,sliding into the seat and pressing in the ignition in a single fluid motion. James fumbled with the controls for what may have been considered too long. Why wasn't anything in this damned car labeled!? After a moment, he finally hit the right button and air flowed into the cabin with a soft woosh.

“But the manual isn’t worth reading.” Q’s voice would have been smug if the shiver that took him over didn’t completely ruin it.

“Don’t ever use the heat,” James mumbled.

“N-no. You’re hot enough already.”

James snorted.

“You walked right into that one,” Q admonished.

“I would again.”

James met Q’s eyes for a moment, and there was a crackle of apprehension in the air.

“It’ll warm up faster if we’re moving,” James said finally, and slipped the car into gear.

“That doesn’t actually work.”

“‘Course it does. Engine’s working harder. More heat, faster warm-up.”

“Mm. No. Moving air cooling the engine more efficiently. Slower warm-up.”

“Point’s moot, this has climate control. Fan won’t turn on until the engine’s warm anyway.”

“Point’s not moot, actually, because the fan would turn on more quickly if you just waited instead of charging ahead,” Q said.

James grinned.

“You’re not shivering.”

“Shut up, Double Oh Seven.”

James smirked, but did, in fact, shut up.

The drive back to the test facility seemed to fly, even though James wasn't driving anywhere near as fast. He was halfway there when Q pulled the blanket up around his shoulders and leaned his head against the window, his eyes shut, his lips set in a soft, satisfied expression that didn't quite meet the criteria for a smile.

James had the irrational urge to throw the car into a drift around the next curve, wake Q up in a panic. He imagined the glare, the snide comment that was sure to follow, the grumbling. He knew what to make of that Q. But this one, the one who was relaxed and content and trusting… This Q was a risk.

James liked risks, he’d risk his life a thousand times before breakfast just for the adrenaline rush. But Q’s trust was a risk that felt more than lethal, a poison he wasn’t sure he was completely unwilling to take. His instincts told him to neutralize the threat before he found himself burned again, but just now, in the stillness of the cabin, cruising through the Welsh countryside, a part of him felt at peace. He let the paralytic settle in somewhere deep in his bones, hoping the antidote was somewhere in Kiev.

**Author's Note:**

> This has definitely been a labor of love for Jainey and I, and we hope you enjoyed reading it as much as we enjoyed writing it.  
> If you did enjoy, please consider leaving a kudos or comment!
> 
> My blog for this fandom (and several others) is [timetospy](http://www.timetospy.tumblr.com).  
> Jainey can be found at [jordankaine](http://www.jordankaine.tumblr.com).
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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